If Happy Ever After did Exist
by imaagine4ever
Summary: Princess Rachel of Greece is regal and perfect. Percy Jackson is an urchin from the streets. When Rachel learns that her father the king is not as saint-like as he has implied to her all these years, she teams up with Percy to change royal rule. She finds herself falling slowly in love with him, until Annabeth Chase comes onto the scene. AU, Percabeth in later parts.
1. Two Lives on Christmas Eve

**If "Happy Ever After" did Exist**

**Hey, guys! Happy National Writing Day! This is just a little post on NWD. I will be continuing it! Please review giving me advice.**

**Two quotes about writing: "I write because I've always believed there is more to life than most people are willing to believe." REVIEW IF YOU KNOW WHAT BOOK THAT'S FROM AND I WILL PROBABLY PM YOU AND FANGIRL ABOUT THE SERIES :D**

"**Why am I compelled to write? . . . Because the world I create in the writing compensates for what the real world does not give me. By writing I put order in the world, give it a handle so I can grasp it." – Gloria E. Anzaldúa (I love this one :D)**

**Two Lives on Christmas Eve**

Christmas was most certainly the best holiday of all, thought Rachel, as she turned away from her tall, bay windows Father had specially installed in her chambers. Glancing over at the other side of her spacious room, where several stones in the wall were noticeably newer than the others, she remembered her old window. A small little thing it was, with a completely horrid view of the street! All those dirty peasants and urchins milling about near her palace were no sight for a lady's eyes, Mother told her. They were to protest tomorrow, Rachel remembered a guard telling her father. Why in the name of Olympus would they protest? Father was a good king, a good patriarch. She had never wanted for anything in her life. _Now, now, Rachel,_ she scolded herself. _No worrying; you'll get wrinkles_.

She ran a hand down her lilac gown, smoothing it. With a gauzy, full, floor-length skirt and a top rimmed with white lace and gray pearls, it was gorgeous, yes, but a rag compared to her birthday gown. She glanced at herself in the mirror, displeased to see that her face powder was ruined, and her luxurious red curls were coming out of their updo. Rachel was tempted to scream for her maid – useless, that girl was – but remembered her lessons. A lady _never_ raised her voice. With dainty, porcelain-like hands, she rang the small golden bell on her dresser, waiting impatiently as her servant huffed and puffed, apparently sprinting up the stairs to Rachel's chambers. The door flew open to reveal a very red-faced, blonde young woman in an apron. "You – huff – rang – puff – madam?"

Rachel sat regally on her chair. "Olivia, get in here. You are to fix my hair and makeup, do you understand? I must look my best for the Christmas party."

Half an hour later, with her feet squished into small purple high heels, Rachel made her way carefully down the steps to the Grand Hall, one hand trailing delicately down the stone banister. As she reached the foot of the steps, she spotted a peasant boy her age, with striking green eyes and messy black hair, standing on the street, peering hopefully into the hall through the gap between the closing palace doors. Spotting her, his expression changed, first smirking slightly, and then becoming guarded as if she had done him an irreversible wrong.

Urchins. Honestly.

But, in her heart, she felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Father always told her that the peasants were poor because they were too lazy to work. The boy, though, couldn't get work anywhere, could he? After all, he was 15 at the most.

Putting the boy out of her head, she forced a smile onto her face as she approached the ballroom. Her once-beautiful dress now seemed too tight and her heels pinched her feet. She had a throbbing headache.

Oh, how she loved Christmas.

Percy had mixed feelings about Christmas. Most families had Christmas feasts, which meant more trash. More trash meant more food. Easy. But not many people actually required their employees to work on Christmas. Yay, one more day off, right? Wrong. One day off meant one day less pay, which meant one day less food. One day closer to death. All it took was a day. A second. An instant. Percy had known that since his parents died… oh gods. _Don't think about that_, he commanded himself. _Think about the present._ He'd be going to another protest tomorrow, along with the other peasants. _Those royals_, he fumed bitterly, _are ruining everyone's lives. _His parents had died because of them, because they couldn't care enough to contain the raging disease that had ravaged the land seven years earlier. They had found remedies for themselves and that was it. They were done, not caring any longer about their people, their _kingdom_. It angered Percy every time he thought of it. Why should the victims of the plague be forced into poverty when the _royals _were the ones to blame, the _royals_ were responsible. He continued to stomp angrily down the street, wrapping his threadbare cloak tighter around himself as the frigid air bit and nipped at him. His boots needed to be replaced soon, when he had more money. He was ashamed to admit he had been tempted to steal once or twice, but had never done so, knowing it would displease his parents, were they alive. An old man caught hold of Percy's wrist. "Pardon me, son. Do you have any spare change?"

He met the old man's eyes, brown and deep, as if they were a thousand years old, and his heart melted. "Of course, sir," he replied, smiling, and dug around in his pocket for a few gold coins, which he handed to the man.

"Oh, bless you, child!" the old man responded, his eyes bright and shining with tears. "And," he added, as Percy began to turn away, "Son, things always look darkest before the dawn. Your life will brighten, trust me."

Percy nodded his thanks and turned away. The man wasn't psychic; how would he know? He approached the palace cautiously, hoping to scrounge for a few breadcrumbs here and there, but the doors were already closing. As he peeked into the Grand Hall of the palace – gods, they had so much money, surely they could spare a few coins for the poor – a girl in an intricate purple gown and high heels descended the steps: Princess Rachel. The gown itself would be worth enough to feed twenty families for a full year. She kept grimacing, though. Those heels must be uncomfortable, he thought, smirking slightly. Then he remembered – it was because of _her _that his parents had died. The smirk slid off his face like mud sliding down a wall.

She glanced over at him, her face first expressing disgust, looking him up and down as if he was something the cat dragged in. Then, her expression changed into…was that sympathy? He turned away, shaking his head inwardly. There was no way someone like _her_ would ever be sympathetic to his plight.

Royals. Honestly.

But, she did seem genuine. Truly. He had never known the princess, but most of the kingdom was aware that she was a brat, born with a silver spoon in her mouth (quite literally.) People did change, though.

Putting the princess out of his mind, he hunched his shoulders against the icy wind, soft, silver flakes beginning to fall upon the thatched houses from the cloudy gray sky. _It could be worse,_ he thought. _You could be stuck in that idiotic ball, having to wear suits and ties and dress shoes and gods know what else._ He grinned up at the sky, imagining himself in formal wear.

A few years ago, it was hard to imagine he'd ever smile again.

Maybe Christmas wasn't so bad after all.

**Ok, I have nothing left to say. PLEASE LOOK AT THE TOP FOR WHAT YOU SHOULD REVIEW ON IT WOULD MAKE MY DAY :D :D :D :D**


	2. The Right Thing

**Ok, guys, just to make one thing clear. THIS IS NOT, I repeat, NOT PERACHEL. I HATE PERACHEL AND THINK THEY DO NOT BELONG TOGETHER. THIS IS PERCABETH. YOU WILL JUST HAVE TO WAIT FOR A LITTLE UNTIL IT GETS TO THE PERCABETH PART.**

**Another thing: I AM SO SO SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED! Last week was the end of the quarter for me, and all my teachers woke up on Monday and realized, "Oh, schist! The quarter is ending on Friday and we don't have enough grades! Let's assign a bunch of homework and set tests!" So, naturally, I had to study all last week for my six tests, which left zero time for Fanfiction. **

**Thank you, AmityClary2020 and The Demigod Gryffindor for your kind reviews.**

**Anyway, ENJOY!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Rachel staggered into her room at eleven o'clock that night, placing one hand on the wall to steady herself as she kicked off her shoes (they were more like torture devices) and sat heavily on the bed, closing her eyes tiredly. Gods, she was in SO much trouble. Some important prince from a far-off land had asked for a dance, and he was… well… getting a bit too close. So she may or may not have stomped on his foot with her ridiculously high high heels. And stormed off. _What's Father going to do when he finds out? _Rachel thought worriedly, chewing on the ends of her hair. As if on cue, a loud voice bellowed, "RACHEL!"

Father came stumbling into her room, his rich plum velvet waistcoat straining at the buttons and his black and gold trousers stretched tight over fleshy thighs. She instinctively sat up a little straighter. "Yes, Father?"

He leaned closer to her. His breath was sour. _Great,_ she thought. _He's drunk._ "Do you have ANY idea what you just did?"

She shrank away. She'd never been talked to this way ever before. Ever. "N-no, Father," she stuttered, feeling helpless.

"_No, Father_," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "If you had just sucked it up for TEN MINUTES and danced with Prince Octavian, his father would be more forgiving! We might be more rich!" He punctuated his speech with a large belch that reeked of spirits.

For some reason, Rachel found herself thinking of the peasant boy on the streets. Maybe if she had danced with this Prince Oswald (what was his name, again?) she might have been able to use the money to help the boy…No. She shook her head. A voice in her head began to recite all the lessons she'd ever learned about urchins. _If they are poor, it's because they won't work, not because they can't. They're lazy, rotten to the core, living off wealthy, hard-working people's honest income._ She was jarred out of her thoughts by her father slapping his hand loudly against her wall. "You listening to me?" he demanded. She nodded nervously. He struggled to his feet and waddled to the door, his double chin swinging and mouth greasy from dinner, his unkempt beard sprinkled with crumbs. He pointed one crooked finger at her. "I'm letting you go this time, and this time only! We have a New Year's ball next week. Now, you'd better be on your best behavior, girly." He slammed her door loudly. She shuddered. She loved her father, but the peasant was changing her opinion of everything. All because of him, and his tanned complexion, with those dreamy green orbs, and – Whoa. She cut herself off, a little scared. Where did that come from?

_You trust a peasant more than you trust your own father,_ a voice in her head sneered. Her heart hardened. She felt her spine straighten as if someone was shoving a ramrod up her back. She was a princess. And that meant doing the right thing.

But who knew what the right thing was anymore?

Percy tiptoed into the blacksmith's forgery the day after Christmas. The building was dimly lit in the morning, the only light coming from the fires that glowed orange. Loud snores emanated from the room in the back, his master's "office." _Got himself drunk last night, I suppose,_ Percy thought bitterly as he snatched an apron from the hook near the door, trying not to make a noise. Maybe if he got on Gabe's good side today at work, he'd give him a few extra coins, spare a molecule of bread here and there.

He absentmindedly began to stoke the fire so the senior workers could begin crafting something…a sword today, maybe? Or a machete. The door jingled and he glanced up as his two friends walked in: Beckendorf and Leo, half-brothers. As another loud snort resounded from the room behind him, he choked back a laugh, remembering the time he, Beckendorf, and Leo snuck into the master's office and wreaked havoc, filling his boots with raw eggs, mixing up his customer's files, and drawing with ink on his face. They had been young and stupid (well, they were still pretty stupid sometimes), not knowing what the consequences were for disobeying one's master…The scar on his left arm still throbbed painfully sometimes, especially when he was stressed, which had seemed like every day recently.

Spotting him, his friends strolled over, chatting to each other, Leo rubbing his head and Beckendorf looking annoyed, shaking his head as if he was chiding the other boy. Percy turned his attention back to the fire, poking the coal absentmindedly, his thoughts turning to the princess he'd seen last night. He wondered if she knew what a materialistic, selfish, good-for-nothing family she was a part of. Probably not, since –

"- told you not to get drunk!" Beckendorf's voice, raised in exasperation, cut through his mental tirade.

"How was I supposed to know the stupid barkeeper's hand would slip?"  
>"That doesn't matter! You shouldn't have –"<p>

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, _CHARLIE!"_

"DO NOT CALL ME THAT! I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL AT THE PARTY AND WHAT DO YOU DO?"

"You never said anything of the sort!"

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

Percy rubbed his temples exhaustedly and sighed. When Beckendorf and Leo got going, nearly nothing could stop them. He picked up the metal poker once again, barely glancing at his grimy, sweat-stained hands. His face probably looked worse. He gritted his teeth as the pointless argument only grew in volume.

"DIDN'T."

"DID."

"DIDN'T!"

"DID!"

"DIDN'T!"

"DID!"

"SHUT UP!" he bellowed. Both boys looked at him in surprise; he rarely raised his voice. They began to work in silence, Percy still seething. About a half an hour later, Percy cleared his throat. "Sorry," he grumbled, his voice raspy from lack of use. "That was uncalled for." They both nodded in acknowledgment. "I have something to ask you," he blurted. "Let's say someone… did something bad to you or your family, but they weren't – um – directly responsible. You saw the person in question once or twice, and realized they weren't that bad. What would you do?"

Beckendorf and Leo looked at him as if he had just dropped from the moon. Leo chuckled. "You're going to have to give me more to work with. Man, that thinking is too deep for me."

Beckendorf muttered something about _any _thinking being too deep for Leo, but walked over to Percy and smiled down at him. "I'd ask you to tell me more, Perce, but everyone deserves to have secrets. All I can say is that everyone deserves a second chance." Percy knew he was thinking of his girlfriend, Silena, who was nearly arrested for treason in her old kingdom. She'd eventually made the right choice, but she'd needed a second chance. Beckendorf gave her that chance, and had believed in her when no one else would. They'd run away to this kingdom, probably the biggest mistake in both of their lives.

He wasn't sure how he felt about Princess Rachel. One side of him, the larger, louder side, was screaming that all royals were demon spawn. But, the other side, which hid in the shadows, speaking its mind quietly and firmly, was ready to give her another chance, to approach this problem with an open mind. He just had to do the right thing.

But who knew what the right thing was anymore?

**Hmmm. I didn't like this chapter. It was a filler. I just really had to update. **

**QUESTION: HOW DO YOU GET LINE BREAKS IN YOUR STORY? HELP PLEASE!**


	3. A New Year and a Pig

**And I'm back! Ta-da! *strikes dramatic pose***

**Anywho, thanks to The Demigod Gryffindor for reviewing for chapter 2 (amazeballs hehe)**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I'm getting really tired of saying this. I own nothing. Except the plot ^_^**

**LINEBREAK**

One week flew by in a flash. One week of preparation, decoration, and perspiration later, Rachel stood at her window in a flowing midnight blue gown studded with diamonds. Its long sleeves wrapped delicately around her arms, hugging her waist and emerging in a full skirt at her hips. The lacy hem swished around her feet, which were cocooned in blue flats. The sky outside was a perfect mix of sunshine and darkness, the sunset painting the sky hues of pink and orange. The sun kissed the tops of the trees, bathing the forest in a soft orange light.

Snow rested delicately upon the scene before her, pale and deceptive, kind and harsh simultaneously, coating the bare, skeletal tree branches and flattened, once-green grass with its slippery, sly sweetness, rather like pearl-studded gloves concealing demon claws.

Tears rested in Rachel's eyes. She refused to let them fall, to succumb to the pain, to the realization that she was _not_ as strong as she believed she was. Rachel shut her eyes, letting a small gasp escape her lips as her head throbbed painfully…

Her father had strutted into the dining hall that morning, in a particularly good mood. She soon learned why… They had received a shipment of gold bars from King Midas's kingdom in exchange for some cheaply made fabric. Her father had been chuckling, muttering something about the "best deal he ever made." He had then elaborated on everything they could do with that money: _Oh, Rachel, we'll get you a new horse. How's that? Old Leonardo's getting a bit worse for the wear, wouldn't you agree? And that gown! Rachel, sweetie-kins, we mustn't have you wearing the same thing again and again! Didn't you wear that last week? Daddy will get you some new clothes. And a new shipment of beer for me, of course. _He'd grabbed her hands, twirling her around the room to the best of his ability, hindered by his basketball-sized stomach that wobbled disgustingly like gelatin. _These bars could be the key to settling in those new lands discovered in the North! Oh, joy, Rachel! Our kingdom will be rich again! _

She'd looked past him through the window, out into the city. Peasants scurried back and forth on the street, begging rich palace folk for money. An old man missing a hand, his left foot crippled and turned at an odd angle, sat huddled in blankets against the falling snow, holding his battered hat upside down to collect coins from sympathetic passerby. His hat was empty. Rage had filled her heart, and she'd wrenched her hands from his. _No! Why can't we help the beggars, Father? Surely not every one of them could be horrible! Now that we have the money, they can't steal from us anymore, and we can gift it to them. _

He'd stared at her with bloodshot, beady eyes. In a flash, he'd reached out and clouted her on the head. She'd collapsed in a chair, gasping in shock. _Don't ever let me catch you mentioning those ungrateful urchins again! They're vile and cruel, and never, ever go anywhere near them, Rachel. They'll poison your mind, poison you against me. _He leered at her, his teeth yellowish and decaying. _Understand, darling?_

She'd nodded, trembling, and rushed up to her room. This was her reward for speaking her mind.

Rachel was ripped from her reverie as she heard the maid calling for her. Sucking in air, she snapped, "Stop yelling so, Olivia! I'm on my way." She glided down the steps, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, her heart a cyclone of emotions, and her expression one of careless boredom that barely masked the storm within. 

Five hours later, Rachel limped away from yet another dance with one of her possible future suitors – but this one was _eight. Eight years old. _She shuddered for what felt like the millionth time. _The men here are pigs_, she thought with disgust. Picking up a glass of some sweet drink from a passing waiter, Rachel rested against the wall outside the ballroom and closed her eyes, savoring the temporary peace of the cool hallway. Deciding to step outside to watch the fireworks on the stroke of midnight – she didn't want to be stuck in a ballroom when the new year came – Rachel set down her cup and slipped out of the heavy palace doors, sneaking around to a clearing in the back that offered her a beautiful view of the star-studded December sky.

Moments passed before she felt a chill down her spine. Twirling around, she squinted into the almost palpable darkness, receiving a shock when she saw a pair of sea-green eyes staring back at her.

"Who are you?" she yelped. "I'll get the guard!"

It felt like hours before he answered. "Nice to meet you, too, _Princess_," he said, injecting mockery into the last word.

He stepped into the light and she gasped as she realized her suspicions were correct. "It's you," she blurted. "The peasant boy from the Christmas ball."

"And you are Princess Rachel," he intoned, bowing deeply and sarcastically. "Always been a dream of mine to meet you, _my lady_."

She frowned. "Stand up straight! Who are you, urchin?"

A smirk danced across his face. "Percy. Percy Jackson."

**LINEBREAK**

Percy blamed the stress. Today, work had been harder than ever before. Some idiot stole all of the palace's weapons from the armory in an attempt to "arm the citizens against the oppressive government!" Except for one problem: said idiot had tripped running from the palace guards hot on his trail. All the weapons had committed suicide and dived into the lake. Ka-boom. Major wipeout. So, of course, Gabe's forgery was chosen to replace ALL of the stolen weapons. "A major honor!" they said. Yeah, right. It was common knowledge that Gabe's forgery was the most disgraced in town, employing rebels as well as providing a steady source of income to Gabriel Ugliano, the one of the richest and most repulsive men in the history of Greece. Wasn't really an honor, now, was it?

An irritated Gabe had poked his ugly head into the main room of the blacksmith's shop, where Percy, Beckendorf, and Leo pounded exhaustedly on red-hot blades, demanding that they "Pick up the pace! You're falling behind schedule!" What schedule?

The night before, nightmares had plagued him. He was being chased by shadow creatures in black robes, which billowed in the wind as the beasts glided after him, in no apparent hurry, as he tripped over tree roots and stumps, finally falling face-first on the ground. He rolled over to meet his attackers' eyes – except that they didn't have any. Their faces were black holes of emptiness, with no facial features. Their clawed hands reached for him and – He was flying through the air, soaring over treetops, his boots skimming the clouds. He glanced up to see the person holding him, and saw… a gorgeous girl? Her blonde hair fell in princess curls on her shoulders, and her skin was tanned from hours in the sun. Her eyes were startling – gray and intimidating, as if they were analyzing everything surrounding her. He had jolted awake, tangled in his tattered blankets, feeling like he was falling.

Maybe that's why he took the pig. Maybe it was a combination of all the factors in his sucky life. He didn't know! Hell, maybe he took it because his lunch had been contaminated with magic mushrooms! **(I also do not own that previous PJO reference. If you don't know what I'm talking about, go reread the first book. Now. Don't talk to me again until you do.)** It was just a bit of fun; he would return it. Eventually. For some reason, his sleep-deprived mind decided around lunchtime, "You know what we should do? Steal a pig. LET'S GO GET 'EM!"

Gabe dismissed him and the other blacksmiths an hour past their scheduled lunchtime. Percy stepped out into the blinding sunlight, the cool, bracing wind stinging his cheeks. He sighed in relief, welcoming the blast of cold air after having spent eight hours in the forge. He was so tired that his feet seemed to shuffle on their own accord towards the lunch bench, he ate the small apple he kept in his pocket mechanically, along with a bit of bread. That's when the pigsty caught his eye. He looked around warily; no one was watching him. And the owner wasn't there. The opportunity was too good to resist. Stealthily getting up from his seat, he skulked over to the sty. Reaching into the mud, he picked a small piglet. Before he could feel accomplished, a husky male voice called out, "Hey! You! Just what do you think you're doing?"

_Uh-oh._ He ran for it. At one point, he just placed the pig on the side of the road. It was too much trouble to go through for an animal that made weird noises and smelled bad*****. Before he knew it, his legs had carried him to the palace gates. Sprinting around to the back of the castle, he dove between some bushes (thorns, ouch) and stayed hidden until the voices following him faded away. Maybe he fell asleep…

The sharp crack of a twig breaking awoke him. Opening his eyes, he squinted around blearily, disoriented. It took him a moment to realize: it was dark out. Stars studded the cloudless night sky. How long had he been asleep? And more importantly, who (or what) made that noise? Springing lightly to his feet, he poked his head out from between the bushes, concealing himself halfway behind a tree. There, in front of him, stood none other than Princess Rachel, in a striking midnight blue gown. She was pretty, he thought idly, but the gray-eyed, blond-haired girl he'd seen in his dream was more beautiful. She stared up at the sky for a moment before stiffening and whirling around.

"Who are you?" she yelled. "I'll get the guard!"

He paused for a moment. Should he reveal his identity? Before he could think any more, he blurted, "Nice to meet you, too, Princess."

Again without thinking (that seemed to be a thing with him lately) he stepped into the light. Her mouth fell open. "It's you," she said. "The peasant boy from the Christmas ball."

Peasant boy? _Just because you have the world at your fingertips doesn't mean you're entitled to insult the rest of us._ He gritted his teeth. "And you are Princess Rachel," he said, bowing sarcastically. "Always been a dream of mine to meet you, my lady."

His mother had raised him better than to speak so rudely, especially to royalty. _But there comes a time when manners fly out the window and you just need to stand up for what you think is right, _he thought grimly.

Princess Rachel scowled. "Stand up straight! Who are you, urchin?"

His mouth twisted into a smile. "Percy," he said. "Percy Jackson."

**LINEBREAK**

***Just to make this clear: I love pigs, okay! They're adorable. This just went with the story.**

**Well? Didya like it? PEOPLE PLEASE REVIEW! I have 3 reviews for two chapters. I WILL GIVE YOU A SHOUTOUT IF YOU REVIEW!**

**Also, HE DREAMED ABOUT ANNABETH! "Ah, you even dream about her! That's ****_so cute_****!" – Aphrodite, ****_The Titan's Curse._**

**REVIEW. I MEAN IT. THAT LITTLE BLUE BUTTON IS CALLING YOUR NAME!**

**Oh, one more thing. REVIEW.**


	4. Lessons

**I feel terrible. I haven't updated in a MONTH! A MONTH! WHAT KIND OF PERSON AM I? Some weeks, I couldn't update because of school. Some weeks, I had writer's block. And some weeks, I was just too lazy. *****Sheepish grin*******

**Anyway, onwards with the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned PJO, I would have put extremely fluffy Percabeth moments into the Blood of Olympus. (If you read it and would like to rant, don't hesitate to PM me!)**

She couldn't believe him.

They'd known each other for ONE MONTH, one FREAKING month and he had the nerve to question her father's policies? Who was he to… argh.

It was useless arguing with him. Remarkably headstrong, but charmingly loyal, the boy who changed her world stared back at her. She sank into a memory of the first time she met those green eyes and fully meant to.

_-FLASHBACK-_

It was the end of the New Year's Ball. Rachel and the boy – Percy – stood side by side, staring up at the fireworks blooming in different colors in the sky like bioluminescent flowers.

"They're beautiful," he muttered, refusing to tear his eyes away from the sky.

"Haven't you seen the New Year fireworks before? They happen every year, you know," she responded.

He turned to her with a sarcastic smile, and their eyes met. Green on green. "Well, I would certainly hope the New Year comes every year," he said. He turned his head back up to the stars. "I just haven't had such a great view before." He then muttered something that sounded like "You have no idea" and something about luck.

Three hours later, all the "Happy New Year-ing" and the cheering and champagne bottle bursting had died down, citizens drifting back to their respective houses in a drunken haze, ready to sleep off the alcohol they had ingested, or perhaps drink even more. Royals pompously offered courteous bows and curtsies, and wishes for a Happy New Year were exchanged, along with the implicit message of "Hope you consider my new policy in the New Year!"

But she tried not to think about that. Politics baffled her. She was convinced that it even confused the government.

After those three hours, Percy said, "You risked talking to an actual citizen? Coming out of Daddy's little paradise, are we?"

She flinched inwardly, but met his gaze coldly. "You should be thankful it was I who caught you, and not the Royal Guard." They fell into an uneasy, tense silence. She sighed. "Look, I don't know what I did to you or your family, but whatever it is, it's not my fault. Why can't we just be friends?"

He looked at her as if she had just said, "Why don't we jump off a cliff?" He laughed humorlessly. "You want to give _friendship_ a chance? The country's pretty much falling apart, the government's corrupted, you're the only one who's capable of doing a damn thing, and your main focus is being friends with an orphan from the streets."

She stomped her foot in frustration. If she could, she'd probably throw a tantrum worthy of a bratty four year old. What was it with this boy? Maybe her family wasn't perfect, but they were still family. Her blood. Taking a deep breath, she fixed a steely glare on his face. "I don't know," she said slowly. "What I or my family did to you, but whatever it is, I'm sorry!"

It was almost comical, watching his facial expressions. They went from cynically disbelieving, to shocked and surprised, to confused.

"You mean you don't know?"

She blinked in bewilderment. "Don't know what?"

He stared back into her eyes, looking at her as if she was a mystery – a puzzle that he needed to solve. No one had ever looked at Rachel that way before. "Meet me at the city library tomorrow at noon. Dress like a commoner and come alone."

He raced off into the shadows before she could respond, leaving Rachel staring after him, bemused. As she took small steps towards the castle, moving more slowly than was wise, seeing as she needed to sleep soon, Rachel tried desperately to sort out her emotions. One part of her was screaming the lessons that had been drilled into her ever since she was old enough to comprehend the meaning of words – lessons that boosted the already inflated egos of people like her uncle and father, lessons that taught royals to behave like royals and no less, lessons that she'd been forced to repeat for hours on end until her mouth and throat dried up.

But lessons could be changed, and new ones were learned every day. Maybe that was why the other part of her – the part that hid in the shadows quietly but firmly speaking its mind, the part that acted as the little nagging voice in the back of her head every time she had to repeat those words – was saying that maybe the boy was trustworthy.

Maybe there were two sides to every story.

Maybe this could work out.

Maybe.

As she stumbled up to her bedroom, though, she wasn't sure which part to listen to. Last week, she would have dismissed the boy, possibly calling Dmitri to take him away if she'd been in a bad mood, but that was the point of learning new lessons. Sometimes they crept up on you and you weren't sure where to go, or which path to take. Her options were to turn her back on her family to cause a revolution – a royal hadn't befriended a peasant in half a century and it would undoubtedly cause a huge scandal – or to stay with her family, secretly miserable and unsatisfied, dutifully heeding the lessons she'd been taught and the rules that had been set since she was young.

Sometimes rules were made to be broken.

_-FLASHBACK-_

The next day, she walked up to the city library, positioned on the south side of the palace. Huge white marble columns supported the domed roof. On the ceiling inside was a fresco – a watercolor painting that depicted the gods on Olympus. Towering oak bookshelves covered the library's stone walls; more scrolls than she could read in ten lifetimes surrounded her. She breathed in air thick with a distinctive smell – of old wood and pages and ink, but also the more overpowering, intriguing scent of magic and mystery, of swordfights and romances, of humor and tragedy, of science and art, more adventures than she could hope for in a million lives all contained in small, bound scrolls.

She was seated at a table, wearing a disgusting brown dress she'd managed to persuade a charity worker into giving her. She and Percy were hunched over the giant collection of files on the table. According to Percy, the files hadn't even been on the shelf – her father had supposedly prohibited it – but he was friendly with the librarian, a nervous redhead named Ella. "You've got to be kidding me," she said.

He looked at her in surprise. "Rachel, these files are hardcore evidence! I understand that this is going completely against your family, but it's obvious you're in serious denial."

"I AM NOT IN DENIAL!" she yelled, earning some annoyed looks from the rest of the people there. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Okay, so I've known you for a whopping week, and you just waltz in here and expect me to believe that my parents stood by and did nothing while an deadly plague killed off citizens all around the kingdom?"

"That isn't the worst part," he said, looking back down at the files.

_Oh, really?_

He continued, "They had an antidote, but they used it for themselves, when they could have mass produced it and given it to the kingdom."

She stared blankly at him, disbelieving. Why would her parents say they were spending millions of dollars on plague research if they weren't? If it was a simply matter of production and distribution, why didn't her parents do so?

As if he read her mind, he said, "Producing and distributing it would be too much work for them. Even if they did, only the filthy rich could afford any."

Rachel groaned and buried her face in her hands. "'S gonna take a while to sink in," she said, her voice muffled.

"Take your time," he said, not unkindly, flipping through the rest of the files.

A few minutes later, papers stopped shuffling. "Oh my gods," Percy muttered.

She lifted her head off her arms. "What?"

He turned to her. "Rachel, this is a page from the king's private journal."

She straightened up as if someone had sent a jolt of electricity through her spine. "What does it say?" she asked warily. From his expression, she knew the answer wouldn't be good.

When he spoke several minutes later, his voice was carefully measured. "Your father made an alliance with Midas' kingdom."

Those words, those nine small words, which may not have been so earth-shaking to most, turned Rachel's entire world upside down. It was known all throughout Greece that King Midas was more of a dictator than a king. A poor boy who once stole a piece of bread could be sent to the gallows, and a rich man who committed murder could get off scot-free. To survive in his kingdom, you had to be quick on your feet, always have connections, and NEVER speak the truth. It was also known that Midas himself was ruthless: he once took pleasure in torturing a peasant imprisoned for insubordination, and it was common knowledge that he abused his wife before she died. Midas never made an alliance unless it benefited him in some way, and Rachel's father's kingdom was one of the poorest – financially and military-wise. So that could only mean…

"What did Midas want in exchange for an alliance?" she asked him, her words laced with fear.

He refused to meet her eyes. "He wanted a companion."

Her eyes widened. _ No. Anything but this._

This time, he met her eyes, and what she saw in them was truly frightening. He was afraid, afraid for her. This boy wasn't intimidated easily, and seeing fear in his eyes was the worst thing ever. Then he spoke, and life as she knew it ended.

"Rachel, your father wants you to be Midas's wife."

**MWAHAHAHAHA! Oh, by the way, I'm sorry I didn't put Percy's POV in here, but it didn't flow with the story. His POV probably won't be in the next chapter either, so you can just not read the next one if you're reading this solely for Percy. But you might be confused.**

**I will try to update as soon as possible, but my teachers don't understand this thing. It's called "Having a Life outside of School." I lost mine. Have you seen it?**

**Also: Chapter after next: ANNABETH! YAY! **


	5. Run

**Hey people! I feel very accomplished because I was able to update and deal with my schoolwork! Yeah, I won't be able to do this every week.**

**Without further ado, ze chapter!**

***UPDATE 12/14/14*****: Hi again. Because I'm a forgetful, absent-minded person, I forgot to thank my wonderful reviewers! So thank you to smmafederer and The Demigod Gryffindor for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: I'M RICK RIORDAN?! NO WAY! Oh, I see what you did there. You were just joking. Darn, you got my hopes up.**

LINEBREAK LINEBREAK LINEBREAK

**Rachel POV**

She was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, but not really staring. She didn't remember walking up here, nor did she remember drifting home from the library in a daze, barely registering the fact that her dirty brown dress did little to shelter her from the freezing January air, or how her legs seemed to move of their own accord, or how her arms hung at her sides like heavy gold bars.

Gold. Dear gods. Even thinking the word was like a key, opening a door in her mind that unleashed a torrent of images, a flood that rushed out of that door and overtook her thoughts, blocking out everything else. Images of starving people in Midas' kingdom, images of his snakelike face, cat-like eyes, images of his clawed hands and sly smile, images of the gallows and prison, of newspaper articles gleefully spreading rumors. A feeling twisted her stomach, like a bowling ball had lodged itself in her gut. Her palms broke out in a cold sweat and chills overtook her body. Anxiety overwhelmed her, along with an emotion she wasn't accustomed to until a few weeks ago, when her father had started acting strange.

Fear.

Then, as she lay there on her bed in that disgusting brown dress, it all came crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She was going to be married to _Midas_. Panic smothered her, and she couldn't remember her name. _Who am I? I am Midas' wife._

It took her a few minutes, but she forced down the nausea building in her stomach. _I am Rachel. Strong, passionate, beautiful Princess Rachel. _And no one would tell her what to do. So instead of bursting into tears as every nerve in her body told her to do, she let power and anger overtake her and stormed out of her room and down the stone stairs to confront her father.

LINEBREAK

"Father!" she screamed. The king sat, stubby feet propped up on a footstool, maids handing him plates of olives and pita slices.

He glanced up sharply. "Do not raise your voice at me, Rachel." He looked her up and down. "What in the name of Hades are you wearing, child?"

Schist. She'd forgotten to change out of the dress. He'd definitely make the connection…

As if on cue his eyes widened. "You've been out."

She flinched. "Father, no, I'm just wearing-"

His voice cut cleanly across hers, resounding and angry. "_Don't_ lie to me, Rachel." He stood up, and Rachel couldn't help thinking that he seemed much taller suddenly. His face contorted in disgust. "You're 16 now. I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago."

Through her haze of fear, a dim light came on in Rachel's mind. "Father, is it true you're marrying me off to King Midas?" He stared coldly at her.

Schist. She shouldn't have phrased it like that. _She SHOULD NOT have phrased it like that._ "Who told you that?" he asked, his pudgy face pale and blue eyes shining dangerously like ice.

"I-well-I mean- I just-" she stammered.

The king leaned closer to her, his face inches from hers. Then, so fast she almost couldn't see it, his hand jolted out and seized her wrist in a vice-like grip. She gasped. "You're too headstrong for your own good, Rachel. Midas will have to _break_ your will," he said, twisting her arm painfully on the word "break." Releasing her, he barked out a short command: "Go to your chambers!" before settling again on the couch.

LINEBREAK

She sprinted into her chambers with tears pooling in her eyes. There was only one thought in her mind, ingrained like a primordial instinct into her brain.

_ Run. Run. Run._

She pulled out a cloth bag from under her bed, slipping through the connecting door into her maid's room and grabbing some of her street clothes. She shoved the peasant dresses into her bag and ran over to the open window, throwing her bag outside and swinging herself up on the windowsill. She couldn't remember how she did it. Somehow, she managed to hook a piece of ivy and slide down it to the grass.

Collecting her bag, she sprinted away to the poor district of the city, never even noticing the raven perched on a nearby tree, watching her with glowing red eyes.

***Sheepish grin***** I did it again, didn't I? Left you with a cliffhanger? Well the cliffy was TOTALLY unplanned. Oh, who am I kidding, I completely meant to because I love torturing you guys. But I also like you guys. It's complicated. Also, I'm sorry this chapter wasn't as long as the others.**

**If you could review, that'd be very nice. I don't know where I need to improve, or if the work I'm doing now is good. Even a simple smiley face or frowny face would do. (Although if you put a frowny face I would like to know what I could improve on.)**


	6. A Child's Fantasy

**Hello people! I'm back with another update! Today was our last day of school before break, can you BE-LIEVE THAT? Who starts break on Christmas Eve? It's a miracle we even had Christmas Eve off, to be honest. **

**Anywho, enough about my life. **

**Thank you to The Demigod Gryffindor for reviewing Chapter 5.**

**This chapter has… (drumroll please)… ANNABETH CHASE! It doesn't have Percabeth, well not exactly… Let's just say there's Percabeth if you squint. Hard. But worry not, my young grasshoppers (even though there are definitely people older than me on here). Patience is a virtue! You shall get your fill of Percabeth in a very, very, VERY short time.**

**This is going on forever. ENJOY THE STORY and I apologize for the slight Lukabeth.**

**Disclaimer: 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house… You know what? I'm not witty enough to make this work. I don't own PJO. Can ya get me that for the holidays? No? Okay.**

**LINEBREAK**

** Annabeth POV**

Annabeth ran as fast as she could upon the cobblestoned pathway. Dilapidated buildings loomed around her, peeling and rotten wood covering their blackened surfaces. Dark alleyways leered back at her from in between the houses. Drunken men stumbled about the sleepy lake town. The only thing that moved faster than a sluggish stagger was Annabeth herself.

The time for stealth, which had served her so well in the past, was gone. Now she was running again. It seemed that no matter where she went or who she met, she'd always end up running. About 300 paces left until she reached the lake.

The lake: freedom. A direct pathway to the neighboring kingdom. She started to pant, a pain building in her side so intensely that it felt like a red-hot knife. Unwillingly, she slowed down ever so slightly and promptly heard the distant thud of hooves behind her.

Schist. The guards were within earshot and they'd catch up soon. A burst of adrenaline shot through her and she sprinted the last couple steps. Stepping lightly over to a rowboat, Annabeth began to fumble with the rope tying it to the dock. She didn't want to do this; she didn't want to run away. For once in her life she wanted to stay and fight and actually FACE her problems.

She'd finally gotten the rope untied. With shaking hands, she outstretched a leg, preparing to step into the boat, when…BAM. An arrow thudded into the dock's wooden post, an inch away from where her hand rested. "Stop right there, Chase," said a cold, hard voice behind her. "Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly."

She did as he told and found herself looking into the beautiful blue eyes of…

Luke. Luke, who took care of her and hid her in his house after the "incident." Like, who laughed that small laugh and ruffled her hair affectionately. Luke, who would come home from work and shout "Annie!" in excitement.

Luke, who was wearing a Palace Guard uniform and was pointing a bow at her. The first thing she felt was a sort of whooshing in her ears. Her mind went fuzzy, and her breathing became short and rapid. All she could do was stand there like an idiot as her killers smiled cruelly back at her.

The Head of the Guard strutted easily over to Luke, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Your tracking skills are excellent, Castellan. She's caught like a rat in a trap."

That was the line that made her catch her breath. That was the line that sparked a fire of defiance in her. Luke had turned. There was no chance for him anymore, but that did NOT mean her chances were lost, too.

She found her voice. "Who said I was caught?" she asked, trying to inject some confidence into her tone.

Luke smirked. "My, my, my, Annabeth. I believed you were intelligent." He tapped his chin mockingly, but wouldn't meet her eyes. "Let's see, you're surrounded by guards, and you can't escape unless you want to drown or be stabbed. Quite the predicament, Annie."

She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. "Don't call me Annie." Her voice broke on the last word, which she HATED. "Luke." The word leaped from her mouth, full of the despair and anger raging inside her like a thunderstorm. "Luke, how could you?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm simply serving my duty to my-"

"HOW COULD YOU?!" she screamed. Angry tears welled up in her eyes. "You said you would stay by me. You PROMISED!"

He pursed his lips. "People change. That's one thing you always had trouble understanding, Annie."

She could only see red. Her hands clenched into fists. "DON'T!" she shrieked, "CALL ME ANNIE!" Ripping the arrow from the wooden post next to her, Annabeth threw it with all her might at the palace horse, which whinnied in panic and galloped erratically in a nervous frenzy. Without a backward glance, she launched herself into the rowboat, pumping with all her might, heading towards a shaded portion of the shore farther down.

Adrenaline was shooting through her, the muscles in her arms tense. Her heart was beating the rapid rhythm of the panicked horse she'd left behind. 5, 4, 3, 2… She made it. Masked by the shadows, Annabeth cautiously peeped out from her hiding place, observing the guards, who were looking around the lake in frustration. Luke threw his hat to the ground angrily, and she caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes, plunging her into a memory…

_-FLASHBACK-_

It was the night it happened. The night it all fell apart. Annabeth had escorted a prisoner to the jail two days ago and he was to be executed tonight, as so many before him had.

Luke fell into step beside her. "Done feeding number B639?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "He's the one they caught two days ago, right?"

Luke murmured his assent. "Poor guy's rumored to have committed a Code 5."

She raised her eyebrows. " A Code FIVE?" she echoed incredulously. "What'd he do?"

Luke chuckled. "You know I can't tell you that, Annie. The king wouldn't like it."

"But I'm his secretary!" Annabeth protested, shooting him a pleading glance.

Luke looked back at her, confident at first, but she could se his resolve melting away. "Damn your big gray eyes," he muttered, hesitating before he continued. "B639 stole the Head Priest's crown. Said it was full well meant to be an act of defiance."

Although verbally she vehemently agreed with Luke, saying he was horrible and fully deserved his punishment oh yes he did, she internally commended the man for his bravery. It was about time someone taught that buffoon in the guise of a holy man a lesson.

Randomly, her gut twisted with guilt for lying to Luke about her feelings. She remained silent for the rest of their walk home, plopping down at the table when she entered the doorway. She stared at the wooden floor for half an hour, barely blinking, as Luke hummed and danced around the kitchen, stirring broth and chopping meat.

He slid a steaming bowl before her and sat down on the couch, the only other piece of furniture in the barren house. "What's wrong, Anna-Banana?" he asked, fondness creeping into his usually formal tone.

She didn't respond immediately, idly stirring the broth.

Being a part of the foundation that upheld the rules, the status, the diversity of society meant that you needed to stand up and speak your mind. Of course, your opinion was only considered when it agreed with the king's. If you had a prominent position, you might have been able to subtly leak tidbits of your opinion into new laws. But when a citizen had the unbridled temerity to rise up and say what he really thought – that the Priest didn't deserve his crown – the government threw him in jail? So that fateful day, Annabeth made a decision. After all, what kind of person would she be if she didn't express her voice? Her plan was reckless, foolhardy, and would probably get her thrown in jail. But if she was imprisoned, she would escape; if she was tortured, she would remain unbroken; if she died, she would die knowing she'd split those chains holding back her freedom, and possibly the freedom of many others.

In response to Luke's question, Annabeth said much too late, "Nothing, I'm fine."

He shot her a look. She could tell that he knew something was up, but he didn't question.

_-TIME LAPSE: THAT NIGHT-_

The clock in the middle of the square tolled deeply twelve times, once for each hour. Annabeth lay in bed, formulating a plan, and a backup plan, and a backup plan for the backup plan, and one more backup plan in case the backup plan for the backup plan failed.

Annabeth liked to plan.

As soon as the bells tolled, she threw back her covers and looked down at her outfit. She wore a black tunic with matching leggings in an attempt to camouflage. She snuck out of the doorway past Like's room, from which deafening, rumbling snores erupted. She didn't even have to try to sneak around to avoid being heard. She slipped cautiously out the door, wincing as it creaked. Annabeth paused, apprehension and fear flooding her, but the rest of the house was silent.

She sprinted away as quickly as she could, the cool air stinging her face, and spared a glance at the sky. The night was overcast, the moon missing, not a star to be seen. Trying to remain in the pitch-black shadows, she ran towards the city jail, giving the guard her name and the password at the locked entrance. The man, whose face was masked by a hat, nodded briskly and unlocked the door. She staggered up the stairs in the dark, feeling as though she was in a dream. As she neared the top of the steps, she heard men's voices getting louder, catching words like "gallows" and something about the Priest. She quickened her pace, almost running when she stumbled upon the two burly guards, holding the writhing prisoner between them.

In her most commanding voice, Annabeth yelled, "Stop in the name of the king!" The guards froze and stared back at her with bemusement. "I am Annabeth Chase, secretary to the king, and this prisoner needs to come with me!" she bellowed.

Recognition dawned on their faces and they fell over themselves bowing. "Ms. Chase, our sincerest apologies! We assure you, we didn't-"

She cut cleanly across their babbling. "Hand prisoner B639 over."

The men did as they were told and scurried away. The prisoner struggled to see her around his blindfold, but refused to talk, even to ask what would happen to him. Smart boy.

She led him down the stairs, every step increasing her desire to turn around and deposit him back in his cell. Reaching the back door, Annabeth pushed him outside and fumbled with his handcuffs. "I'm letting you go," she muttered. "Don't waste your breath asking why or thanking me. As soon as I tell you, run into the woods, cross the lake, and go to the Dare kingdom."

What little she could see of his face looked utterly baffled, but she didn't have time for that.

"Hey! Just what do you think you're doing?" a gruff voice demanded from behind her. Her heart stopped.

"Go," she said, her voice cracking. He didn't move. "Go!" she screamed, and the prisoner sprinted away into the night. The guard was calling for reinforcements and the police force was here did that mean Luke was here? And there was a burning at the base of her skull someone screams not her because she didn't remember screaming the pain's too intense and…

The last thing she thinks before she passes out is that she didn't get to see his eyes. But his jet-black hair stuck in her memory.

_-END FLASHBACK-_

Annabeth rowed quickly across the lake, when she was ABSOLUTELY sure that all the guards were gone. About 30 minutes later, she reached the opposite shore – the shore of the Dare Kingdom. They'd never find her here, she thought triumphantly. Removing her small bag of possessions from the boat, she weighted the vessel down with rocks and tore some strips from her tunic, which she dropped in after the sunken boat. For good measure, she let some blood from a scrape on her arm mix into the water.

Her eyes scanned the shore of the Midas kingdom once again. At least Midas wasn't very public. To his citizens, Annabeth Chase was a dangerous, crazy, wanted assassin (though she'd never killed anyone). As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Annabeth Chase was a nobody. She spun around and walked into the forests of her new home – the kingdom where she'd sent prisoner B639…was it just last year? Maybe she wanted to see him, receive a bit of gratitude and acceptance in this lonely, strange place.

But it was a child's fantasy that he'd remember her, much less thank her. It was a child's fantasy that she thought she could ever trust Luke. It was a child's fantasy that she thought she could get away with helping B639 escape. Just a child's fantasy.


	7. Where She Ran To

**READ IMPORTANT A.N. AT THE BOTTOM**

**Hey guys! I'm back with another chapter, and this is my first post of 2015! *****Cheering and noisemakers***** **

**Thanks to The Demigod Gryffindor and FourFearsForever for reviewing chapter 6.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Percy's POV**

He was in his hut when he heard the news. Crouched behind the sofa, he was attempting to fold his threadbare clothes when he was snapped out of his reverie. He heard the sound of hundreds of people moving at once, speaking in loud voices. The sound carried through his dirty window, making his newfound pet guinea pig, Blackbeard, squeak in fright. He raced over to the door and poked his head out, calling out to an old man who lived down the street, "Ernie? Do you know what's going on?"

Ernie looked up blearily. "Word on the street's that th' Princess ran 'way," he said. Shock flooded through him. Rachel _ran away_? He sprinted out of his hut, pushing through the crowd with muttered "excuse me"s. He needed to see if it was true, if she really had escaped. He cursed himself a thousand times. This was his fault. If he hadn't told her that her father was going to marry her to Midas, she never would have been pressured into running away. She didn't know anything of the kingdom! If the king had a reward out for her, she would have people searching for her in every nook and cranny of the whole city, especially the poor, most of whom would kill for a spare drachma.

He ran faster, the shock and fear inside him pumping every step. As he neared the castle, the only thought inside his head was _"Please don't let it be true, please let it be just a rumor."_

He skidded to a stop just before the palace's boundaries, and took in the scene with horror. Guards swarmed every square inch of the castle grounds, as if they were waiting for a command to set out and search the city. The king waddled about, giving instructions to the generals while the queen sat passively by, disappointment obvious in every firm line of her face. Turning his head slightly, Percy received a thrill of fear when he saw a wanted poster up, which displayed a picture of Rachel with the caption:

**PRINCESS RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE**

**AGE: 16**

**RUNAWAY FROM THE PALACE**

**REWARD OF 10,000 DRACHMAS TO THE FIRST PERSON WHO FINDS PRINCESS RACHEL AND BRINGS HER DIRECTLY TO HIS MAJESTY KING CHARLES WILLIAM DARE**

His heart pounded erratically, and he reached out and tore the wanted poster down. It was ironic to think that one month ago, he would have scoffed and dismissed the princess's disappearance as the foolish wanderings of a spoiled brat. Now, he was prepared to protect her like she was his own sister. His legs, seemingly moving of their own accord, turned him away from the castle and back to his hut.

He shuffled slowly, one villager in the large mass, when a flash of gold caught his eye. He glanced over to the woods, where the movement seemed to have come from. He didn't think he could be any more shocked today, but she proved him wrong. "She" was the girl from his dreams, the pretty, blond-haired, gray-eyed angel who rescued him from the shadow creatures. He stopped walking, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. They held each other's gaze for what seemed like an unbelievably long time, but it wasn't long enough. He wanted to go to her and ask her what her name was, perhaps enquire if she had turned into an angel and saved anyone from dark, evil beasts in dream world recently, but the crowd pushed them apart. He craned his neck to catch one last glimpse of her, but she was gone. Like she'd never been there in the first place.

TIME LAPSE:: TIME LAPSE:: TIME LAPSE

He stumbled through the door of his house. Blackbeard squeaked in greeting, but Percy hardly heard him. He flopped down on the couch, trying to make sense of everything. His mother had always told him, "When life looks hard, go back to basics and try to find a solution." She'd always been hardworking, not really a "believe and everything will magically get better" type of person.

He ran his fingers through his hair. He'd told Rachel that she was going to marry King Midas. He'd had his share of experiences with Midas before, and all he wanted to do was warn her of the danger to come. But, Rachel, most likely out of despair and fear, ran away from the palace and could be anywhere. The trick was to get to her before anybody with harmful intentions could. Problem: she could be anywhere. He sighed. He was just going in circles with the Rachel issue, so he decided to move on to the gray-eyed girl.

He didn't know why he felt such a strong connection to her, almost as if they were childhood friends who had long since forgotten each other. All he did was dream of her! It was like they'd met before; Percy just didn't know where. Confused and frustrated, he stretched out on the couch and was asleep in two seconds.

_He was trapped in a jail cell, feeling as if the world around him was crashing down. He stole some important guy's crown, and so he was going to die tonight? The unfairness of it all made him want to scream, or cry, or punch a wall. Or all of them. He heard footsteps in the hallway, and dread accumulated inside his gut as if he had drunk molten lead that had solidified in his stomach. He was going to die. When the guards came, he struggled almost instinctively. He knew that fighting wouldn't make any difference against the guards' burly masses, but he wanted to go down knowing that he'd put up a good fight. His hands were tied, and he was blindfolded and dragged out into the hallway, still twisting and turning, attempting to see past the cloth that masked his vision, when he heard a voice. _

"Stop in the name of the king!" _The guards, surprisingly, stopped. Who was this person? _"I am Annabeth Chase, secretary to the king, and this prisoner needs to come with me!" _Inwardly, he smiled grimly. He should have known. Perhaps the secretary, Annabeth, was going to torture him before he died. The guards bowed repeatedly and babbled meaninglessly about Annabeth's greatness after her last words, which made things very uncomfortable for Percy, since they were still pinning his arms tightly. She cut cleanly across their little show. _"Hand Prisoner B639 over."

_He felt himself being thrust over to Annabeth, who grasped his arm tightly. He struggled to loosen his blindfold, but didn't want to speak. They already had enough intelligence on him; they didn't need more. Then, he was led down what seemed like thousands of flights of stairs. After they reached the bottom, Annabeth pushed the door open and loosened the rope that tied his hands. Was this some kind of trick? _

"I'm letting you go," _she murmured. _"Don't waste your breath asking why or thanking me. As soon as I tell you, run into the woods, cross the lake, and go to the Dare kingdom."_ He was utterly confused. What could she have to gain by letting him go? Then it hit him. She wasn't loyal to the king. He was so relieved he felt like singing, or flying, or hugging her, or all of them. _

_ But, his relief was short-lived. A guard's voice cut gruffly through the night air. _"Hey! Just what do you think you're doing?"

_Annabeth looked terrified, and he didn't blame her. _"Go," _she said, her voice breaking. He couldn't leave her to this guard; it wouldn't be right. _"Go!" _she screamed, and he could tell she meant it. Ripping his blindfold from his eyes, he sprinted into the woods, trying to ignore the feeling of shame coursing through every bone in his body. _

_ His heart stopped as he heard a scream from behind him._

Percy jolted awake, clawing at the air in front of him. Recently, the scene of Annabeth and how she'd helped him escape recurred in his dreams. He felt regretful that he hadn't even seen her face.

A loud knocking ripped him from his thoughts. He opened the door cautiously to see… Rachel. She wore a dirty brown dress and her noticeable red hair was tucked up into a brown cloth. Her face was streaked with mud, and she stood on his front porch as if they were in a perfectly normal scenario. "Hello, Percy," she said casually.

He said something like "Gah!"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you going to let me in or do I have to push past you?"

He stepped aside, recovering his wits enough to ask, "How did you know where I live?"

"I asked your neighbor," she responded, looking around his hut. "He's a lovely old fellow, by the way." Finishing her examination, she nodded triumphantly. "This'll do," she said, putting her simple cloth bag down on his bed.

"B-Wha- that's my bed!" he spluttered.

"And now it's mine," she contradicted coolly.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. "Okay, fine. But are you going to tell me what in Hades you were thinking when you ran away from the palace?"

She turned to him, and for the first time, her eyes betrayed a bit of fear. "I just- I couldn't go on knowing I was going to be married to that son of a gorgon. I wanted to _do_ something about it, not just sit by and have all the decisions made for me like I have the past 15 years of my life. And this was the only solution I could think of."

He nodded; he could relate to that. "Well, welcome to my humble abode, then."

TIME LAPSE: THREE HOURS LATER

The sun was setting when Percy thought of the gray-eyed girl again. He had this sudden, reckless urge to go to the place he'd last seen her, near the palace, and try to find her again. _It's now or never, _he thought. Telling Rachel he'd be back soon, he grabbed his cloak and headed out.

He didn't even have to walk all the way to the palace to find her. He'd barely turned the corner from his street when he saw her, talking to the man with the deep brown eyes that had asked him for change… was it just last month? It seemed years ago. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he just found himself listening to their conversation, shock overwhelming him when he heard the girl's name.

OHLOOKITSALINEBREAK

**Annabeth POV**

Annabeth had been living in the woods for some time, and that day, there was a huge crowd flocking to the palace. Curious, she watched from behind a tree as masses of people came to the castle. She heard snatches of their conversations: "That reward money's mine for sure…" "I hope the poor dear's not dead, though she may be better off that way…" "Do you think the king will ever increase the amount of money…?"

_Oh_, Annabeth realized, _the princess ran away_. She felt a pang of pity for the young girl. Princess Rachel had been spoiled and bratty her whole life, but recently, something had changed. The Dare Kingdom press reluctantly reported that she'd been seen hanging around the poor more often. Annabeth wasn't too surprised. Her point of view had been altered, and Rachel was just as likely to experience a change of heart.

The crowd had slowly begun to back away from the palace, and in the masses, Annabeth wasn't sure how she spotted that messy black hair, but somehow, she did. That messy black hair that was so much like Prisoner B639's. As if sensing her thoughts, the boy turned to meet her gaze, and she found that his eyes were startling green. Beautiful and clear, they reminded her of the sea on a warm, sunny day. They held each others' gaze for what seemed like hours, before he was ripped away by the crowd, and Annabeth slunk back into the shadows. She definitely couldn't be sure that this was the same man as Prisoner B639, and he probably wasn't, but she definitely felt a _connection _(as cheesy as that sounded) with him, as if they'd met before.

LATER THAT DAY

Annabeth walked into the poor district to see if she could get a job; anything would do – she just needed a steady source of income. A hand closed on her wrist, making her flinch instinctively. "Spare change?" a familiar voice croaked.

She turned her head and met the deep brown eyes of… "Chiron!" she cried out in excitement.

His eyes lit up and he engulfed her in a hug. "Oh, Annabeth, my child, it's so lovely to see you!" He held her at arms length and scrutinized her. "The palace exiled you, too, did they?"

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Not an exile, more like a daring prison break and police chase across the border."

His eyes twinkled. "That sounds more exciting than the way I was thrown out of the government's workings. Come to my hut, and we'll talk." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders protectively, and she followed him. Chiron was like her father, and for once, Annabeth felt safe.

She didn't know that that feeling wouldn't last for very long.

**IMPORTANT AN: As everyone knows, it is January (if you didn't know that, go buy yourself a calendar), and in January, schools like to establish a new method of torture known as MIDTERMS. I will go through this torture within two weeks or so. The torture will last 1-2 weeks. The time before the torture and during the torture (which spans to about all of January), I won't be able to update very often or at all. I'M SO SORRY but school really does come first. **

**Please leave a review on your way out giving me feedback! I use every bit of advice I get and every review is helpful to my writing process.**


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